Romancing the News: A Lesbian Office Romance

by Violette Grey

  I sat up straighter and listened attentively as Joanna talked. She would be the one who would get me where I needed to be, so I knew I had to follow her example. Work hard and be strong. That’s how you went places in this world.

  ***

  The cab slid up to the curve and I jumped in, giving the driver the address Joanna had given me. It was located in LoDo, so I knew it probably cost a pretty penny to live there.

  Taking a cab was a new experience for me. I certainly preferred it to the bus, but almost fell over when the driver told me the price of the fare when I got to Joanna’s building.

  My eyes followed the side of the soaring high-rise, and I smiled, knowing I must look like a sightseer as I took in how small I felt among the tall buildings. It was not that I had never been in the downtown area before, but I had never thought of anyone actually living there.

  I studied the paper Joanna had given me, her address with the apartment number listed across the top, and then made my way to the glass doors. My heart raced when a doorman opened the heavy door for me. I had never been to a place where there was a doorman.

  A small desk sat to the side of the foyer, a security guard behind it speaking to a handsome couple.

  “Yes, sir, Mr. Peterson,” the guard was saying. “I will be sure to contact management about that problem.”

  “Thank you, Jameson,” the man said. “I appreciate it.”

  “Oh, anything for you, sir.”

  As soon as the couple walked toward the elevator, Jameson turned to me. "May I help you?" He sounded bored. It was interesting how much his demeanor changed.

  I must look like I don't belong, I thought with a sniff. He certainly was not treating me the same way he had treated that couple. Aloud I said, "Um, yes, I'm here to take care of Ms. Hendrix's cat in apartment thirty-five ninety-five."

  "I’ll need to see some identification," the man demanded, sticking out his hand, palm-up, and leaving it there as if waiting for a tip.

  I dug out my ID and handed it to him and he scanned it and then handed it back.

  "Thank you," he said curtly.

  "Oh, no, thank you," I said in an overly sweet voice. The guy was a jerk and she refused to be treated like garbage.

  The elevator arrived and the doors opened and another couple walked out. I stood with my mouth hanging open. It was Samuel Temple, a well-known anchorman from one of the local television news shows. This was the closest I had ever been to someone even remotely famous in my life, and I almost missed the doors closing before I slipped inside the elevator, watching the doors close as the handsomely famous man and his model-type wife walked out the front door, Jameson giving them a friendly wave.

  Once inside the elevator, I looked again at the address and pushed the button for the thirty-fifth floor. It was third from the top, and I was excited to see the view from so far above the street.

  I punched the security code Joanna had assigned me into the keypad above the door handle. A light grinding sound came from the door as it unlocked and I tentatively turned the handle, surprised when it opened. The high technology Joanna had was impressive, and again, something I had never encountered before.

  Had I been impressed in the hallway, I was bewildered in the entryway of the apartment. It was impeccably decorated with pure white tiles that gleamed from the sun shining through the plate-glass windows, the Denver skyline displayed as I had never seen it. My eyes bulged when I turned and almost ran into a bust of Joanna that sat displayed on a small round table next to the window. I was afraid to touch it and wondered if it would watch me as I worked.

  Something rubbed up against my legs and I jumped as I looked down and saw a black and white cat matching the picture on Joanna's desk.

  "Well, hello, Seamus," I said as I reached down and picked up the cat. It purred in my arms as if he knew I was not a cat lover but he wanted to win me over. He was soft and lovable, but there was nothing that could convince me to have my own. It was like my mother used to say about babies; she loved everyone else's.

  "Let's get you something to eat," I told the cat as I made my way to the gourmet kitchen. It had granite counter tops, a double wall oven and the biggest refrigerator I had ever seen in my life with two doors the same size as regular fridges. Inside was an organized collection of fresh fruits and vegetables, milk in glass bottles (something I had only seen on old TV shows), and an array of bottled water and four types of fruit juices. Thinking of Brook's and my stock of leftovers in to-go containers made me laugh, Seamus looking up at me as if I were crazy. Well, if a cat could look that way.

  I found the cat food, gourmet as well; of course it was in a special container in the refrigerator, and I dished it out onto a special plate with Seamus's name on it.

  "You are a spoiled cat," I said and I petted him down his back as he gobbled up his dinner. "I bet if I fed you the cheapest cat food you'd eat it just as greedily."

  The watering can was exactly where Joanna said it would be, in a cupboard that also housed cleaning supplies. I wondered if Joanna did her own cleaning but doubted it very highly.

  Once the tasks were completed—I only had to water two plants, the rest were not scheduled for watering today—I took one final look around, still amazed at the extravagance around me, and then left the apartment. I actually looked forward to returning the next day.

  Chapter Eleven

  Work was much more laid back with Joanna gone. People were getting to know me better, and I them. After offering to look at one journalist’s article, word got around that I was someone who would give honest and practical advice. This, of course, made me happy, although it also kept me busy.

  “Paulette,” Kim Shilling said as she approached my desk, “would you take a look at this piece on the possibility of a dam going up in Boulder County?” She handed me a folder. “I’ve included my notes, interviews, and whatever else I’ve collected so you know what information I have.”

  “Sure. Give me a couple of hours and I’ll get back to you.”

  Kim smiled. “Thanks, you’re a peach!”

  I perused what she gave me, and after an hour returned it to her.

  “I think it’s great,” I said, and I meant it. “You’ve included the pros and cons and kept the piece unbiased. That’s not easy to do.”

  “Well, it’s what our magazine tries to do,” she said. “Stay unbiased. I hope we can keep it that way.”

  I understood what she meant. It seemed every publication out there these days leaned either left or right, but few could maintain an even middle ground. From what I had seen so far at the Libertarian, the writers tried very hard to not allow their biases to leak into the articles. It was not an easy task, that was for sure.

  A feeling of camaraderie, something that did not exist at the Free News, made my job feel easier; although that was not the case. I worked harder at the Libertarian that I ever worked at my old job, but the gratitude people showed each other lightened the load.

  Joanna kept in touch every day through email, if not several times a day, to see how things were going and check up on me. I doubted it was a lack of trust—it just did not come off like that—but rather a matter of showing support. Still relatively new at my job, I appreciated it.

  The weekend after Joanna left, I was invited to my first party. Tim Craigston, one of the other administrative assistants, was turning thirty and was throwing a huge birthday bash at his place in Westminster. It was a direct route from his neighborhood to mine, so getting home would be easy.

  “I don’t want to go to a party for some guy I don’t know,” Brook said when I told her about it later that evening.

  “He’s a nice guy I work with,” I tried to explain but she cut me off.

  “I don’t care. You hardly know the man anyway, so why would you want to spend time with a bunch of people you don’t even know.” She flicked a wave at me, remote in hand. “But go if you want to.”

  She always said it that way when she did not really mean it. Her
hope was that I would give up and stay home instead of going out and meeting new people, something she hated to do.

  It was not easy for me to decide. I thought Tim was a really nice guy. Most of the office staff was going, so I would know quite a few people. Yet, I could see what Brook meant; I hated going to parties for Brook’s coworkers for all the same reasons. Not that they had very many. As a matter of fact, it had been ages since the last time Brook came home asking me if I wanted to go with her to someone’s get-together.

  After a lot of mental back and forth, I finally decided I would stay in with Brook. I did not blame her for not wanting to go, and I felt bad about going on my own. It worked out well, anyway. We watched movies and had popcorn, so I did not mind so much.

  ***

  The following day, I sat at my desk finishing up an editing project for one of the columnists. A basic Q&A column for people to write in with questions about anything political and basic answers to those questions.

  My cheek in my hand and my elbow on the desk, I scanned the writing, already bored with it. Most of the questions asked were so simplistic, I had to wonder if they were real questions or if Felix, the columnist, had made them up.

  I closed my eyes, just to rest them, of course, when I heard a voice break my concentration.

  “That looks like an interesting piece.”

  My head almost hit the desk when it fell off my hand, and I jumped, my heart racing as I glanced around to find the voice’s owner.

  Blake Portley stood next to my desk. The editor-in-chief was a large man with a handlebar mustache I did not realize anyone still wore. I thought I would just drop dead and die right there with him finding me dozing on the job.

  "Hello, Mr. Portley," I said.

  "Hello..."

  "Paulette," I said to help him with my name. It was not like he should know who I was.

  He snapped his fingers. "Yes, Paulette, that’s right." He was jolly, sort of like a western Santa Claus, which belied a position that should have been stressful. Maybe it was why the magazine was moving up so quickly in popularity; less stress from the top meant less stress for everyone else. He made no comment about my having fallen asleep at work, for which I was extremely thankful. "I am looking for some notes Joanna had on the upcoming run for governor. Do you happen to know where I could find those?"

  I pushed back in my chair and stood. "I’m sure I can find them in Joanna’s files," I said as I headed into her office.

  "Great," Portley said. "Would you bring them to my office when you have them?"

  "Absolutely," I said with a smile. He was such a nice guy, I was glad to be working for him.

  Joanna was a very organized, meticulous person, so I had no doubt I would not be able to find what Blake needed. Unless the files were at her home, which could be also likely since she did a lot of her work from there. It probably depended on how far along she was in her research. Her newer stuff was at her home, whereas anything that was substantially investigated and ready for write-up would be in her filing cabinet.

  After searching her files and finding nothing, I went to Blake’s office.

  “Sorry, sir,” I said. “I could not find the notes in Joanna’s office. However, I do know that she keeps some of her research at her place. If you’d like, I can run over and see if I can find it there.”

  Blake thought about this for a moment and then said, “Yes, if you don’t mind. And for your time, grab a quick lunch. I think I can wait a little while longer before I get started.”

  I wondered how I had gotten so lucky to work for a company that was so employee-focused. Maybe one day I would wake up to find that this place did not really exist.

  ***

  When I got to the apartment I stared at the replica of Joanna as I walked to the office wondering again if it was watching me. I giggled at the thought of her sitting at her computer in the hospital waiting room watching a live stream of her own living room. It was highly unlikely but made for a humorous visual.

  The home office was less organized than her work office, although her system setup was still better than anyone at the Free News could have maintained or even thought of maintaining.

  I went to a two-drawer filing cabinet next to a small wood and metal desk in front of a large window. The view pulled me to the window and I stood looking out over the city. A sliding glass door led to a wrap-around balcony and I walked out to stand, leaning on the glass balustrade, the city seeming calm and quiet so far below me. This was where I wanted to live, way above the city where the sounds of traffic and crowds were muted by the heights, but I knew I was close enough to enjoy the convenience of city living.

  I sighed, forcing myself away from the view, and returned to the office. It only took me a few minutes to locate the file Blake had asked for. Every file was clearly marked.

  Just as I went to close the drawer, another file caught my eye, and I reached in and pulled it out. I stood staring at the label “Bill 9436-The Hanover Project” not sure what I should think of it. Maybe it was here because it was not going to be pursued.

  With shaky hands I opened the file. The first thing I recognized were the notes I had given Joanna several weeks ago. Beside my notes was added information in what was clearly Joanna’s handwriting. A printout from the Colorado government page listed the bill and what it would do, which was circled in red pen with a note that said, ‘Ask Alexandra about this’. Although the printout was over a week old, I knew it had been printed just before Joanna told me that my idea would go nowhere.

  According to the government page, a majority of the committee members were in favor of the Hanover Project, which meant that there was a good chance the bill would pass through committee to be moved for a vote in the House. It had been at the bottom of the list of items to be discussed at the time the page was printed, but I knew I had a limited amount of time before it was passed.

  At first all I could do was stare at the file. Was Joanna looking into this a little more? What was she planning on doing with any information she found? Was she hoping to help me make this work?

  But even as these questions swam around my brain, I knew the answer to them all.

  Joanna was going to steal my idea.

  Chapter Twelve

  I felt as if I were walking through deep water once I returned to the Libertarian. My movements felt sluggish as I moved toward Blake Portley's office, the file he requested in my hand. I had placed the other file, the one with my notes, on my desk.

  "Oh, Paulette," Blake said as he waved me into his office. "Thank you for that. You're a lifesaver."

  I made a non-committal grunt and headed back to my desk, pulling the chair out and plopping myself into it. I had never felt so violated, so hoodwinked, so deceived. How could this woman, one I looked up to as a mentor, do such a thing?

  I opened the folder again and removed the few pages that were there. One was the draft of an email that had been printed off from Joanna's email. It was addressed to an Alexandra Satterly. This must have been the same Alexandra that she noted on what I had given her.

  The phone rang and I answered it.

  "Joanna Hendrix's office," I said, knowing my voice lacked the usual enthusiasm.

  "Hello, Paulette, it's Joanna," the voice on the other end of the line said.

  "Oh, hello." This was the last person I wanted to speak to at the moment. I was too stunned still to make any mention of what I had found, but at least I could make some sort of small talk just to get her off the phone. "How's your mother?"

  "Well, that's why I'm calling." Joanna sounded annoyed. "As it turns out, my mother was not able to have her surgery yesterday; she ate a piece of licorice in the morning, if you can believe that—a single piece of licorice. Well, you know how stringent these doctors are on not eating anything eight hours before surgery."

  "Yeah." I just could not put any more energy into saying more.

  "So, they had to reschedule for next Monday. Mother has asked me to stay with her th
e rest of the week so I can meet her garden club, so I told her that I would. God, how I despise these things, but she guilted me into it."

  "Mothers can do that," I said.

  Apparently Joanna did not notice my lack of interest. "Yes, well, I will be gone for at least another week if not two, so can you manage without me? I’ll call Blake next and let him know. It will do him good to actually do some work for a change.” She laughed. I forced a single chuckle. “Not that he will have that much to do since the last edition came out just before I left. Anyway, I must be off. Mother is waving me over. The chauffeur is ready and mother hates to wait for anyone. I'll talk to you in another week. Oh, and how is Seamus doing?" She had not taken a single breath, or so it seemed, during her tirade of information.

  "He’s fine," I said, still steamed I actually had to continue talking to this woman.

  "Great! Then I'm off."

  Yeah, you're off, I thought as the phone went dead. Off your rocker.

  I went into Joanna's office and shut the door. I needed to talk to someone, the anger was more than I could handle alone.

  "Hello?" Daisy's voice asked. "Paulette? Is everything OK?"

  I took a deep breath. "No, it's not OK," I said angrily. Now I would be able to vent to someone. I explained everything, from asking Joanna for help with my idea to finding the information in the file.

  "I can't believe she would do something like that," I said dejectedly.

  Daisy gave an evil laugh. "I'm not surprised at all. Look who she is. She didn't get where she is by being nice to everyone. You know she had to have stepped on a few people while climbing that ladder."

  "Yeah, but I really liked her," I whined. "I thought she was going to be a mentor. All she did was use me. That story was mine. And it was a good idea.”